Pee-Wee Harris on the Trail eBook

“Even if they should see us or hear us,”
Pee-wee encouraged, “they wouldn’t dare
come after it, because it isn’t theirs.
They thought nobody would ever find it in here.
It’s good I was on the inside, hey?”

“That’s the place to be,” said Mr.
Swiper.

“You bet it is,” said Pee-wee. “Were
you ever locked in a place?”

To this purely personal question, Mr. Swiper made
no reply; Instead he walked about the car thoughtfully,
then climbed into the front seat and turned on the
dash-light. He seemed to know what he was doing.
Pee-wee did not wait but excitedly climbed in beside
him.

“Gee whiz, a feller’s got to have nerve
to steal a car, hasn’t he?” he asked,
unable in his elation to keep still.

“And it’s all right, that’s one
sure thing. Oh boy, I’m glad I met you
and you’ll get as much credit as I do, that’s
sure. Anyway, we’ve got a right to take
it away from the thieves, I hope. Gee, nobody
can deny that. Anyway, I guess you don’t
feel scary.”

“Guess they won’t follow us,” said
Mr. Swiper. “Not if they know what’s
well for them. Thieves don’t come after
you, they run away from you.”

“You bet they do,” said Pee-wee, delighted
at his new friend’s rather generous contribution
to the talk.

The engine now purred softly, the silent shifting
into reverse gear told the young rescuer that a practiced
hand was at the wheel. Slowly the big car backed
out of the building and around till it headed into
the dark over-grown road.

“You didn’t put the lights on,”
Pee-wee said.

“Time enough for that,” said his companion,
who seemed quite accustomed to driving in the dark.

Presently the big super six Hunkajunk touring model
was rolling silently along through the woods, rescued,
saved! Soon to be restored to its rightful owner
by W. Harris, scout, B.S.A.

By the dash-light, Pee-wee obtained a first glimpse
of his companion’s face. There was nothing
in particular about him, save a long, diagonal scar
on his face which Pee-wee thought might have been caused
by some tool in the ruined manual training room.
The young man had also very short hair; it was so
short, in fact, that it seemed almost like no hair
at all. It was like a convict’s hair.

CHAPTER XV

IN CAMP

The light which Pee-wee had seen across the water
was not on a boat as he had supposed. It was
on a small island the very name of which would have
delighted his heart, for it was called Frying-pan Island,
because of its rough similarity of form to that delightful
accessory of camp life. If Scout Harris could
have eaten a waffle out of such a frying-pan he would
have felt that he had not lived in vain.